


Glass Houses

by Paladin-Pile (UserFromPluto)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Impulse fic, Inspired by Art, Keith (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Keith has trouble verbally expressing things, Keith's Past, M/M, Protective Lance (Voltron), The Team is there too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UserFromPluto/pseuds/Paladin-Pile
Summary: His hands itch to strike, to crush, and his Galra blade sits heavily on his belt, begging to be grabbed and sunk deep into something, anything, that could pay for this. He has the urge to destroy everything in sight, and though his legs burn from running he has to move, to break and tear until something is fixed, until someone understood.(Keith is afraid, but Lance's arms are safe)





	Glass Houses

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea how this fic happened. I saw [this heart-stopping art](https://paladin-pile.tumblr.com/post/163323447647/calilee-dont-worry-ive-got-you) by @calilee and stared at it for 20 mintues, then started crying and wrote this. Tbh the art is so fluffy and sweet I don't know why the fic is such a heavy brick of angst. Anyway, much thanks to @lolanbq for the beta!

 

 

 

   The castle hallway echoes with Keith’s pounding footsteps as he runs, his whole body trembling with pent-up and frustration and anger. He is trying so hard to think clearly, to breathe, but his mind is blank with the white static roaring in his ears, and his chest is tight and aching. It has been several days since the battle with Zarkon, since Shiro disappeared, and Keith’s demons are surfacing once again.

   He had tried to express what he was feeling, to work through it, to actually _talk_ to his teammates like a real family would, but every time he opened his mouth his mind would mix up the words and his voice would catch in his throat.

   He’s tired, he’s hurting, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. As the days had passed Keith had become more non-verbal, and though he could tell the others were worried, the explanations he wants to say are trapped inside him like a tightly corked bottle. The turmoil had been building up--in his stomach, his lungs, his shaking hands--and finally, today, he had snapped.

   They had been discussing strategy with the Blade of Marmora, trying to find a way to form Voltron again when he felt it: the internal switch that flipped when he allowed emotional distress to build up without an outlet. It was familiar by now, but that didn’t make it any easier.

   He has no idea where he is running, all he feels is helpless, burning rage.

_...Pilot error…_

   His hands itch to strike, to crush, and his Galra blade sits heavily on his belt, begging to be grabbed and sunk deep into something, anything, that could pay for this. He has the urge to destroy everything in sight, and though his legs burn from running he has to _move,_ to break and tear until something is _fixed_ , until someone _understood_.

   He is angry at himself the most, for being dumb and _inhuman_ enough to not be able to say a few simple words that would let his teammates know what's going on, for being too weak to save Shiro, too broken to love Lance. Chest heaving, he turns into a random doorway and nearly crashes into a chair. Fumbling to a stop, he looks around to find himself, surprisingly, in the kitchen.

_...if anything happens to me...._

   In less than a second Keith’s insides boil over again, and he seizes the nearest chair, driving it straight into the food dispensers with a satisfying crack. Some goo drips out but he doesn’t notice, pulling out his bayard and sinking it deep into the countertop, over and over again. His throat is sore, maybe he is making noise, but all he hears is a faint ringing in his ears.

 _Help me,_ he thinks. _I can’t…I can’t._

   The logical part of his mind chides him. What is he thinking? That ripping off a cabinet door and beating it into the floor will bring Shiro back? That’s absurd, but here he is, doing it. Will throwing every chair against the wall explain what’s wrong to the rest of the team? Will grabbing the nearest item and shattering it beyond recognition fix him? _No, no, no._ But he can’t stop, not if he wants to breathe.

   Getting both hands under the edge of the long table, he hefts one side up and flips it over. It lands with a deafening bang that reminds him of a laser blast, and something loosens in his chest. He takes advantage of the freedom and sucks in a huge gulp of air, pressing his forehead to the hard surface and gasping, gasping...

   “Keith?”

   Keith jumps and spins around to find Lance standing in the doorway, a panicked look on his face. When the blue paladin steps inside the others follow slowly, and Allura gasps when she sees the state of the room. The sound is like a bucket of cold water to Keith’s consciousness, and gradually the haze lifts from his mind, allowing him to fully see the wreckage he has made of the kitchen.

   Plates and eating utensils are strewn about, thankfully intact due to Altean design, but there is not a single thing besides those that is not at least partially destroyed

   His breath hitches and he takes a step back, eyes wide as he sees his teammates all gathered in the room, looking at him. The adrenaline leaves his body as fast as it had come, anger replaced with the horror of realization and a wave of fear.

 _How could you have forgotten?_ his mind screams.

   He’s been through his before, too many times. He knows what comes next.

 

......

 

_“...He has to go, Roy. He’s too violent and we just can’t get through to him. He won’t talk to us, never tells us what’s wrong!”_

_Keith sat on the carpeted stairs, arms around his knees as he listened to the voices drifting from the kitchen. It was late at night, and the massive clock in the hallway counted away the time._

_Tick, tick, tick._

_“I know, it’s just...this is a group home and we already have so many kids. Maybe if we both weren’t working we would have more time, or have the option to learn how to help him. But now, it’s impossible. I’ll call the caseworker in the morning…”_

_Keith clambered to his feet and ran back up the stairs, starting to pack just to give his hands something to do. He broke a vase before he left the next morning, swiping the pieces under the upstairs cupboard. Maybe they would remember him when they found it later._

_......_

 

_“He broke Billy’s nose!” The child cried. “We were playing outside and some kids started yelling. Sara and Billy were there and they started fighting!”_

_“It was probably an accident, sweetie. He’ll have to apologize,” the woman soothed, but the child stomped their foot._

_“No! He had problems even before he came here remember? I don’t want him here! He fights my friends and he breaks my stuff when he gets all crazy. He’s too dumb to even talk!”_

_The parents tried to reason with him that time, but Keith didn’t know what to tell them. He wasn’t angry anymore, but the taunting words of the children still bounced around in his head and made feelings in his chest he didn’t understand._

_They lasted another week. The father gave him a sad look and pat on the shoulder as the car pulled up to get him._

 

_......_

 

_The next time was a trivial little thing. Just a jacket he had gotten for Christmas. A nice lady from a charity had given it to him, and every time he wore it Keith remembered those sparkling eyes and kind words. The jacket was soft and warm and he would hug it to himself, sometimes imagining it was another person._

_One day, one of the older kids stole it. Keith had been stupid enough to leave it on the bed, and wasn't fast enough when the taller kid snatched it up and ran. He tore the house apart looking for it. Literally._

_Before the sun even set that day he was standing out on the steps, holding his small ragged bag of clothing._

 

.......

 

_Keith loved the Garrison._

_It was home. He had lived here the longest of anywhere--two whole years--and he had made himself valuable. His name was at the top of all the flight logs and written exams. The combat instructors commended him when he fought so hard he ripped a punching bag from the ceiling, and he was doing what he loved._

_He was flying, he was learning about the far reaches of the universe and charting his own way to get there. He had all the food he could eat and a bedroom that was small and safe._

_He had Shiro, a hot-shot senior who had declared himself Keith’s friend and taught him more than he thought possible to learn. Keith soaked up the older boy’s kindness like a sponge, slowing beginning to thrive. Before long, they were inseparable._

_Eight months passed and Keith looked up at the news screens one day to see the face his best friend, along with the words, “KERBEROS CREW LOST.” Numb as he was, he believed them, until the pieces didn’t make sense anymore._

_He confronted them, screamed, swept the Colonel’s desk clean with one push, and punched an aide. By the time his mind had stopped racing he was standing outside the gates, holding a backpack and a notice to never return on penalty of arrest._

_He thought of turning around, of banging on the door and pleading till they took him back. But they had abandoned Shiro, and Shiro didn’t deserve that._

_His tears fell into the dust. Silently, as was his curse._

 

_........_

 

   “Keith?”

   Lance stands among the ruins of the kitchen, heart in his throat and sick with worry. The damage to the room is repairable but Keith is obviously not alright. They had all seen his struggling during the past few days, and Lance is now cursing himself that he hadn’t done something sooner. Some boyfriend he was.

   His Keith stands still as a statue, every muscle frozen, and the look at his face is one of purest fear Lance has ever seen. He isn’t just afraid, he’s _devastated,_  heartbroken, like his whole world just died before his eyes.

 _I’m missing something,_ Lance thinks frantically. _There’s more to all this than we think._

   “Keith?” he says again, taking a slow step forward and reaching out. The others stay where they are behind him, wanting to help but accepting that Lance is the right person to do this.

   Keith’s eyes snap to his, and Lance has to steel himself in order to not crumple with the pain in them. The red paladin drops the crushed piece of equipment he is holding and glances around again, as if he is just now realizing what he had done. Lance keeps his hand out, waiting patiently as Keith’s gaze reaches his again.

   Like a slow-moving picture, Lance watches the expressions cross Keith’s face. Realization, horror, regret, anguish. For a second those dark eyes flash with resignation, but as soon as it comes it is gone, replaced with a raw pleading that makes Lance’s gut turn.

   “No,” Keith whispers finally, chest stuttering with uneven breaths. “No, no, no, _please."_

   Confused and worried, Lance closes the distance between them and touches Keith’s shoulders, testing his reception to touch. Keith doesn't move away so Lance pulls him into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around Keith’s back.

   “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, but Keith is trembling hard, water building in his wild eyes.

   “Please,” Keith begs softly, voice strained and choking. “No, _no._ Please!”

   “Please what? Babe, what’s wrong?” Lance asks, rubbing Keith’s back and clutching him closer.

The smaller boy’s fingers dig into the thick fabric of his jacket as if letting go will kill him, but he is limp against Lance’s body, lower face pressed into Lance’s shoulder. The fight has gone out of him and his armor stripped away, leaving the boy in Lance’s arms too small, too fragile.

 _Who do I have to kill,_ he wants to say, but bites his tongue. He tries to think of more soothing words, but before he can voice them Keith speaks up again.

   “Please no, I’ll do anything,” he pleads brokenly, and Lance realizes with a start that his shoulder is soaked with tears. Keith sobs once, then twice, and Lance feels the others approach behind him.

   “Hey, hey,” Lance says quickly, bringing up a hand to cradle Keith’s head. “It’s ok, no one’s mad. No one’s gonna hurt you.” He wracks his brain for what could be causing Keith’s distress, other than the obvious pain of losing Shiro and the bitter realities of war.

   “Keith, please tell me what’s wrong,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

   A heartbreaking whine tears from Keith’s chest and his breaths come in choked gasps. He sounds terrified, and Lance looks up to the stricken faces of the others, clustered around in shared concern. Pidge places her hand on Keith’s back, and with one last shudder, he breaks.

   “I’m sorry!” he bursts out, shaking with more sobs. “I’m so sorry, please don’t send me away!”

   Lance’s insides turn to ice, a cold dread slipping down his spine. Keith is still mumbling _no’s_ and _I’m sorry’s_ into his chest, but Lance’s heart has stopped.

 _“What?”_ he breathes. “Keith, we would never send you away, what are you talking about?”

   “I messed up,” Keith says. “I’m violent and broke stuff and I’m too stupid to talk…”

   Lance recognizes the words for what they are and squeezes Keith tighter. A lump grows in his throat as faint memories return--of rumours at the Garrison and raised voices, of seeing younger Keith’s through the cafeteria windows, being escorted outside the gates.

   Shiro had mentioned Keith’s past, once, farther back than any of them had known him. Lance suspects the ghosts have followed him, even up here in space, and vows to be there for Keith when he was ready to share them.

   He presses his cheek to Keith’s hair and begins rocking him gently, trying to envelop him as close as possible. Turning his head, he kisses Keith’s temple and ignores the tear that cools a track down his own face.

   “I’ll never leave you,” he says fervently, even though his voice shakes. “No one is kicking you out or taking you away. I _promise."_

   Keith remains silent, and without moving his head he unclenches his hands from Lance’s jacket and slides them up, wrapping them tightly around Lance’s neck. He burrows his face deeper and Lance kisses him again.

   “Do you understand?” Lance presses. “You don’t have to be afraid. I love you, we all do. You’re just as much a part of us as our own kidneys.”

Keith huffs a tiny laugh at this, and Lance smiles through his tears.

   "I...ok,” Keith says, nodding into Lance’s chest, and Lance hums lowly.

   “We can fix this stuff,” he says softly. “But we can’t live without Keith.”

   The others murmur their agreement and press in close. A few arms wrap around them both and a few more tears join Keith’s own, and oh, does Lance love this boy.

   “I want to stay,” Keith whispers after a moment. “I love you.”

   “Good,” Lance replies firmly. “‘Cause we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @paladin-pile


End file.
